


Just a Drop (Juste une Goutte)

by Kause



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fuck them, Happy Ending, M/M, Not blind blind, Oblivious Thomas (Maze Runner), That's kinda the whole point here, Thomas is blind, You won't fool me, but you know what i mean, newt is not dead, that fucking letter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 10:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30121167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kause/pseuds/Kause
Summary: Sometimes, one drop is enough. Just one little tiny drop. And the story doesn't end the same.
Relationships: Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Just a Drop (Juste une Goutte)

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Juste une Goutte](https://archiveofourown.org/works/30120687) by [Kause](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kause/pseuds/Kause). 



> I always told myself "You don't like the end of this or that ? Well, you get your fingers, a keyboard and you write." So here we are. Because Newt's death ? Nop. Thanks.
> 
> PS : Shout out to my friend who translated it for me. Love you Girl !

The first thing Thomas feels when he wakes up in the Safe Haven is pain. The piercing pain in his guts, of course. Nobody's ever felt good after taking a bullet in the stomach. But this pain is real at least, it's tangible and he can almost touch it, in a way. Whereas the other pain, the one that prevents him from breathing even though he just opened his eyes, the one that forces his mouth open but keeps him from screaming, that's the pain that wrenches his heart.  
Newt's dead.  
Newt's dead because of him.  
He killed Newt.  
While his lungs are emptying with no sign of wanting to fill back up, Thomas feels around for a chair, a piece of furniture, a wall, anything he could hang on to. He feels like he's drowning. Pictures are dancing in front of his eyes. He sees himself dodging Newt's hits. He sees himself holding the knife away from his own chest. He sees himself a few inches away from his face mangled by the Flare. He sees himself holding that same knife, but the blade is now facing away from him. It's not being buried in his chest anymore. It's sunk deep into Newt's.  
Thomas staggers. His right hand shatters something that was sitting on a table. His bared feet step onto some glass fragments now scattered on the floor. He cuts the sole of his feet but doesn't notice it. He's still unable to breathe and to see past three feet in front of him. Everything's blurry.  
Suddenly, the shed's curtains open wide, letting in a light brighter than Thomas has ever seen outside of the Scorch Trial. Still staggering, he frowns and lifts a hand to shield his eyes from the light.

“Hey, Thomas, relax! Breathe, breathe! You're safe, man!”

It's Minho, Thomas can tell by his voice. The Asian boy puts a hand on each one of Thomas' shoulders, and if the gesture doesn't help with the breathing, it does at least stabilise him. The warmth from Minho's hands brings him back to reality and, gradually, while his vision becomes clear again and he follows Minho's breathing pattern, Thomas comes back to his senses. He starts to feel the pain under his feet and the sweat dripping down his back, his forehead, his chest. His fists are so tight they actually hurt. He relaxes his hands.  
The panic attack is over and his legs give way. Fortunately, Minho saw it coming and he catches Thomas before his knees hit the floor, still covered in glass fragments.

“You're safe, Thomas... We're all safe.”

Without being able to control it, Thomas feels his eyes burn and his throat get tighter.

“You're lying...” he says as best he can, his voice breaking.  
“What?”

Minho lifts an eyebrow. He guides his friend towards the bed he was lying in a few minutes earlier and sits him down. Thomas opens his mouth to speak, but words are a jumble in his mind.

“You're lying”, he says again, “all of us aren't safe.”

Pain flashes in Thomas' eyes. Minho hesitates for a second. He's not sure who Thomas is referring to, so he tries his luck.

“She died doing what was right. What was good.”

Thomas frowns, not understanding him. Oh right. She died. She's dead too. Teresa. A mirthless smile stretches his weary face.

“Yeah... That's one way to put it...”

Then Minho gets it. His friend wasn't talking about Teresa. He's about to say something when Brenda bursts into the shed.

“What's all this rack- Thomas!”

Thomas sees her striding towards him and he barely has the time to stand up before she hugs him. Tight. She doesn't say anything, not even something along the lines of “I'm happy you're awake”, because it would be too much; because she knows, too, what this apparent “safety” has cost them. Instead, she just hugs him tight until he lets out a groan.

“Sorry... Wait here, I'll get Vince. We need to tend to that wound.”

Brenda disappears as fast as she appeared and a smile, more genuine this time, lights up Thomas' face when he hears her call – shout – Vince's name.

“I see she's doing well”, he says.

Minho laughs and sits next to him on the bed before he answers him.

“Yeah. If you'd seen her since we got here. She hasn't stopped. She runs everywhere, she gives jobs to everyone, she yells at the loafers. That includes those who are just taking a break from building the camp. 'We're not here to bask in the sun!', she says.”

Thomas lets out a laugh before groaning again. Bastard Janson.  
Now it's Vince's turn to walk in, followed by Brenda and a boy Thomas has never seen before. Minho tells him in a whisper that it's a boy from another maze. He used to take care of the others there.

“Like Jeff with us?”  
“Yup.”

Thomas nods and lies down when he's asked to. Minho gets up to let him stretch out his legs on the bed. The new boy, Malik, leans over him, lifts up his shirt and takes a look at the dressing. Of course, it's covered in blood, considering Thomas' flailing around when he woke up. Malik sighs and Minho smirks.

“Sorry...” Thomas says, sheepish.

Malik shrugs.

“That's all right.”

The Medjack carefully removes the bandage and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that the wound hasn't reopened completely. He steps away to get a cloth and a basin of clean water then comes back to clean up the blood, already drying out. Thomas winces when the cloth comes a little too close to the wound, but says nothing.  
A moment later, Malik asks him to sit up and a fresh bandage is soon wrapped around Thomas' abdomen. He sits on the edge of the bed to face his friends.

“Be careful not to move around too much or you'll reopen the wound and you'll never heal.”  
“All right.”

Minho snickers quietly but Thomas hears him, and so does Brenda.

“Meaning he's gonna try and stay still for about three minutes”, she says, and a smile can be heard in her voice.

When Malik walks out of the shed, Vince speaks up for the first time since he arrived.

“I'm happy to see you with your eyes open, Thomas. For a minute there, we thought you were determined never to look at us again!”  
“How long was I asleep?”  
“Almost a week.”

From the corner of his eye, Thomas sees Minho crossing his arms on his chest and looking down. He's moved by the concerned look on his friend's face. He understands that everybody's been worrying about him.

“I'm sorry. I really am...”

Then, because he doesn't know what else to say, Thomas quiets down and fiddles with his fingers.

“Come on, don't worry about it. The main thing is that you're back with us”, says Vince before gently shoving him and walking towards the exit. “Take your time to get out there, listen to Malik's advice. We have enough working arms for now.”

Brenda leans in to embrace him again et gives him a kiss on the cheek. She ruffles his hair and walks out after Vince. There's only him and Minho now. Silence falls upon the room. Thomas is still nervously fiddling with his fingers. He looks up and sees that Minho is turning something in his hands. He lifts an eyebrow and the Asian boy clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable.

“You... you were holding that when you passed out in the Berg. I figured it was important. I took it so you wouldn't lose it.”

Minho hands him the object. It only takes Thomas a few seconds to identify what it is.  
_Please, Tommy, please..._  
He holds out a less than steady hand and grabs the necklace. He's holding onto the capsule so tight that his knuckles have gone white. Minho looks down at the floor again then speaks out with a tremor in his voice.

“I'm gonna leave you be. The others probably need me.”

It's only a cop-out, of course. They both know it very well. But Thomas doesn't say anything and waits for his friend to be gone to clutch the necklace to his heart. His body can't help curling up around his clenched fist. Tears burn in his eyes before dropping to the floor, between his feet.  
He needs a few seconds, a few minutes even, to find the courage to open the capsule. It contains a piece of paper. Two, actually. Thomas takes them out and unfolds them. It takes him a moment to calm the tremor of his hands enough to be able to read the first words. That's when he understands it's a letter, a letter from Newt. 'The first and the last' as Newt has written himself.  
The first lines appear clearly to Thomas, but the sentences get blurrier as he goes. Big tears are rolling down his cheeks and he's forced to wipe his eyes and hold the letter away. He doesn't want to damage it.  
'And I remember you.'  
His heart wrenches and this time, Thomas is convinced he's going to die from it. The pain is so intense it pierces him through and through. He's suffocating.  
'I knew I would follow you anywhere.'  
'And I have.' Thomas lets out a sob but he's gritting his teeth. It's not enough and he has to hold up his fist to bite the base of his thumb. The pain it causes barely covers the one he's feeling inside.

“I regret so many things, Newt... So many things...”

Thomas doesn't understand how Newt could have regretted nothing of what is now their past, even when he knew he was going to die. Thomas wishes he could have died in his place, or died from this bullet in his stomach. But perhaps he deserves to live with all this. With the burden of all these deaths weighing on his shoulders and on his conscience. If he'd only thought things through, or been better at reading some people's true nature, Newt and so many others would still be alive. Everything happened because of him.  
'And take care of yourself. You deserve to be happy.' This sentence, along with the few words scribbled under the signature, is the last straw for Thomas. These last words aren't clearly legible because Newt seems to have forcefully crossed them out, but Thomas can read them and he starts laughing. His laugh is manic, tears keep forming in his eyes, he throws his head back and he can hear him. He can hear him saying these words. He won't allow himself to read them out loud, or even silently. But he sees them spelled out. Very clearly. Three words.  
So he gets up. He puts the letter down on his bed and this time, it's not a panic attack that makes him break everything around him. It's anger. His arms knock down everything that's sitting on the tables around him. Then he smashes the tables against the wall.  
Newt was always braver than him. While Thomas was living a lie, trying to convince himself that he loved Teresa, Newt knew there was something between them. Something quite real, actually. He'd even put it into words, back then. Thomas was definitely the biggest coward of all.  
Once again, Minho bursts into the shed. He jumps over the debris scattered all around and grabs Thomas from behind. His arms hold Thomas' close against his chest, and his hands find each other just above Thomas' heart, as if he were making sure to never let go of him. Thomas starts screaming again.

“He loved me! He loved me!”

Minho manages to speak, despite the frenzy Thomas is in. He does so without softening his grip.

“I know.”

His tone is calm, even if he's out of breath. At least, it makes Thomas quiet down. He's not struggling anymore, but Minho still doesn't let go.

“And I love him...”

This time, Thomas' voice is only a murmur in the deafening silence that surrounds them. A few seconds go by. They can hear the other kids playing, laughing and working outside. They can hear the birds, in the distance, chirping and tweeting. They can hear life going on. And yet, Thomas can only feel Death.  
The fact that Thomas used a present tense keeps Minho from answering right away. He can feel his heart cracking too. Still, he answers him after a while.

“I know that too.”

Thomas' legs finally give way. Thankfully, his friend is still holding him and softly sits him down on the floor. He stays behind him, his arms still wrapped around his shoulders. One of them feels he's not strong enough to face the pain, while the other feels he can't let the pain take over. Still, he cries because it's too much to bear. Because he's only human and he can't deal with so much. Crying soothes him. But he has no right to be soothed. Newt is dead because of him.

It's been a few days since Thomas woke up and a few weeks since everyone settled down at the Haven. The buildings are starting to take shape. The first ones are already finished, and they're the most important ones. Among them is the infirmary in which Thomas stayed while he was asleep and for a day after he woke up. There's also the dining hall, run with a firm hand by Frypan. Just like back in the Glade, he doesn't mess around when it comes to food. If anybody dares complain or so much as express the idea that the food isn't great, Fry kindly sends them to take a hike, mentioning that “if you don't like it, you can cook your own damn meals”. It's usually enough to close the debate and to get the plaintiff to sheepishly hand his plate over. The first living cabins are also finished. Their wooden walls are almost completely hermetic and they're so solid a hurricane couldn't knock them down.  
That night, Minho can't get to sleep. Everyone else has gone to bed, but he’s still in front of the bonfire, just sitting there, his arms wrapped around his knees.  
Just like every night – or almost every night, since they got to safety, hundreds of images are flashing in his mind. He sees the Glade, the Maze, the Scorch Trial. He feels the lightning electrifying him again, burning his cells up one by one. Sometimes, he feels himself dying, and every time that happens, he wakes up with a jolt, covered in a cold sweat, a scream stuck in his throat.  
This time, he's thinking about his conversation with Thomas. If you can call it that. He always knew there was something going on between Newt and Greenie. Without even thinking about it, Newt can remember half a dozen times when they couldn't stop staring at each other, or even looking for each other in the Glade. Like that time Newt made Thomas a runner. The situation was bad, a decision had to be made and it was the best solution. But everybody could see through it, or at least Minho did. Newt had been particularly indulgent with Thomas' punishment. One night in the slammer? Just one? Even though he'd breached the number one rule in the Glade? Minho defended Thomas and he stands his ground. Without him, Albi would have died a lot sooner and Minho himself probably wouldn't be there to rack his brains like he's doing. However, as a stand-in leader, Newt should have been more severe. Minho can't hold back a smile, amused and nostalgic at the same time. A hand on his shoulder pulls him out of his thoughts.

“What are you thinking about?” Brenda asks.

She sits down next to him. He shifts to sit cross-legged. He starts by shrugging the question away, then adds a few words. One, actually.

“Thomas.”  
“And Newt?”  
“And Newt.”

How does she know? Most people here, or at least those who know them, don't know that Newt represents so much more to Thomas than Teresa ever did. They probably think that Thomas is feeling this way because of Teresa's death. The thought of this makes him laugh softly.

“How did you know?” He asks her.

This time she's the one who shrugs the question away and gathers her legs between her arms.

“I don't really know. I mean, I had a hunch but I didn't really know where it came from. Maybe it was because of all the time they spent together, how considerate and thoughtful they were of each other. Then that day came, and there was no doubt left to have...”

Her voice gets stuck in her throat and Minho raises an eyebrow at her. He doesn't push her to go on. He knows she'll get there by herself but that she needs a moment to put her thoughts in order.

“I was there. You know? Just after... I got there too late... And I saw Thomas' eyes. I think a part of him died with Newt... He looked so devastated, Minho... It was as if he'd suddenly become completely hollow...”

With a shaky hand, she wipes a tear rolling down her cheek and Minho holds out an arm to her. He wraps it around her shoulders and gently hugs her. He can only imagine the scene and it sends a chill through his spine. The silence lasts a few minutes before she breaks it.

“Do you think he'll ever get over it?”  
“No.”

Minho's answer is clear and definite. If it first comes as a shock to Brenda, she understands eventually.

“I don't think you can get over losing the person you loved most in the world. Maybe he'll feel better after a while, but there will always be this hole in his chest.”

For a second, Brenda wonders if Minho isn't speaking from experience. It almost seems like he's been through the same thing. She doubts she'll ever get an answer to this question because Minho is very quiet when it comes to his feelings. But maybe he's just very observant, especially with his friends.

“You're right... It's so unfair... So sad.”

Minho holds her tighter and she rests her head on his shoulder before letting her tears flow freely.

The next day, Minho is woken up by Thomas, like almost every night since his friend has come out of the infirmary. Brenda and he ended going to bed almost an hour after their conversation. But this time is different. Thomas doesn't wake him up with his screams and his nightmares. When Minho opens his eyes, his friend is bent over him and there's something so crazy in his eyes that Minho almost jumps out of his skin.

“We have to go get him”, Thomas says.

It doesn't take Minho long to understand who he's talking about, but he still asks the question. Just to be sure.

“Go get who?”  
“Newt.”

A flash of clear-headedness appears in Thomas' eyes when he speaks that name. Minho pushes him away with his forearm to get up then grabs him by the wrist to guide them both outside. Dealing with his friend's folly is one thing, but letting everybody around them in on it is quite another. They wouldn't understand. They barely understand why, every night (or most nights anyway), Thomas wakes up screaming. They don't hear it, they don't hear the word 'Newt' in the middle of everything he screams.  
He takes a few steps outside with Thomas, using this time to think of an answer. He wants to say that it's been almost three weeks since they arrived at the Safe Haven, meaning Newt's body has been there for almost three weeks, too. He wants to say that three weeks is a lot for a corpse, and that he's probably pretty far along the decomposition process, which would be even worse to witness than everything he's dealt with so far. But Minho can't tell him, not in these words. It's not even worth trying. So he tries something else.

“Thomas, all the buildings came down. We won't be able to get him out of there.”  
“There weren't that many buildings around. I'm sure we can bring him back.”

Okay. Onto plan B.

“Do you even remember how to get there? The whole town has been reduced to a pile of bricks, nothing looks like what it used to, it would be like looking for a needle in a hay stack.”  
“I do remember.”

Okay. Onto plan C, then.

“And how do you suggest we get back to the continent? Swimming?”  
“Doesn't the ship have emergency rafts?”

Minho thinks for a second and realises that the ship does have emergency rafts. They're electric rafts, even, which makes the project doable. Much more doable than borrowing the ship itself, which neither of them knows how to operate. Thomas looks at his friend's face and knows he's won.

“We leave tomorrow morning, before dawn”, he says.

And, without another word, he goes back to bed. Minho sighs, lifts a hand to his face and finally follows him.

Thomas has been awake for a while when he hears Minho get up. He doesn't follow him right away. He takes a minute to reflect, to realise what they're about to do. They're going to get him. To bring him back. He's going to see him again. To hold him close.  
As this idea settles in his mind, Thomas feels a weight being lifted from his shoulders. He's going to bring him back and things will almost be back to what they used to be. He'll be able to visit as often as he wants. He'll be able to talk to him. To tell him. To tell him that.  
He jumps out of his bed, takes care not to step on his roommates and exits the cabin. He only takes his backpack with him. He fills it with a bottle of water and some other stuff. He thinks about adding some weaponry for a second, but the Trial is dead anyway, so there doesn't seem to be much of a point.  
When he gets near the boat where Minho is waiting for him and when Brenda jumps out of nowhere, some new memories come back to him. When it came time to get Minho from the Last City, Newt and Fry had been waiting for him even though he'd planned to go on his own. This time, Minho replaces Newt, Brenda replaces Fry. His heart swells up and he looks down. His eyes aren't tearing up, though, and it's a smile that slowly appears on his face. He looks up to say something to Brenda, but she talks over him.

“Don't try and change my mind. Minho's already tried. I was there. I know how to go back. I saw the city in rubbles, I walked its streets. I know how to get there.”

Minho must have told her everything. Thomas raises an eyebrow, crosses his arms on his chest and smirks.

“Did I say anything?”  
“No, but you were going to... I think?”

Thomas laughs softly and puts a hand on his friend's shoulder.

“You go first”, he says.

Minho laughs too and, strangely, the atmosphere between them is pretty relaxed. Thomas feels good. His friends enjoy it while it lasts: they know it won't.  
They silently travel the ship's hallways, walk up a flight of stairs and finally reach the lifeboats. Minho looks down over the guardrail then up at his friends.

“It's a long way down”, he says.

It is. When Thomas and Brenda look down, they realise the distance between their future skiff and the sea. Minho's eyes follow the wires down to a pulley, then to a lever. He walks up to one of them and pulls it. A deafening noise echoes through the island and a lifeboat falls about four inches.

“There you have it!”, he exclaims, with a big smile on his face.  
“Well done, man!”

Thomas gives him a pat on the shoulder and throws his bag overboard, then holds out a hand to Brenda. She doesn't think twice about grabbing it and he helps her get on board. Then comes Minho's turn, and his. He takes a second, sitting on the guardrail, to think. His eyes wander over the horizon.

“I'm coming...” he whispers, before joining his friends.

The journey to get to the Last City takes a long time. It almost takes them a day to get there. The boat is equipped with solar panels. They power the engine, and it's just as well, otherwise they would never have had enough gas to get to their destination, let alone come back.  
The sun is setting by the time they step off the boat.

“We should sleep here before we go into the city”, Minho says.

Thomas doesn't want to. Now that he's so close to Newt, every minute he spends away from him feels like an eternity. And yet, he knows Minho's right. If there's one thing they’ve learnt from their numerous expeditions around the world, it's that the night-time is dangerous, even when the silence gives the impression there isn't a living soul around. Better safe than sorry.  
Grinding his teeth, Thomas nods and the three friends set up as best as they can for the night. The journey has taken all the energy out of them, and Brenda and Minho drift off to sleep soon after. And even though Thomas is thinking about a thousand things, sleep gets the best of him too. His dreams feel like nightmares and, like almost every night for a while now, he wakes up screaming, a few hours later. Minho gives him a tight hug; he's used to it by now. Brenda strokes his cheek with a shaking hand. She wipes off his tears before taking his face in her hands. She looks at him and when Thomas meets her gaze, he hangs on to it as though it were a lifebelt. His eyes reflect all the despair in his soul, all the hurt in his heart, and Brenda is short of breath too. She tries to appear calm though, to soothe him.

“We're almost there, Thomas. We're almost there...”

Her voice breaks up and Thomas goes back to sleep almost immediately, as if it had all been a simple case of sleepwalking. It didn't last more than a minute. Brenda sobs while Minho lies their friend down again.

“All this suffering is too much for one person... Why does he insist on bearing all of it alone? He's gonna die! It's too much!”

She feels her anger swelling up but doesn't want Thomas to wake up, so she gets up and walks a few steps. Minho sets down his friend as best he can then joins her.

“He thinks he's responsible for the whole thing”, he says. “He isn't, but he thinks he is.”  
“How could he be?! All he ever tried to do was save us!”  
“I know...”

Minho doesn't know what else to say. He understands his friend and he doesn't. In Thomas' place, he would probably blame himself too. Thomas was the leader of the group from the beginning. He's the one who guided the Gladers through the Maze and against the Grievers. He's also the one who got them out of WICKED's headquarters to guide them across the Scorched Trials.

“I think that's what happens to all good leaders. It's never easy to make such decisions, and he probably thinks he never made the right ones. That every time he did something, people died because of it.”  
“Except if he hadn't made those decisions, people would have died too, maybe even more of them”, Brenda retorts.  
“I know that. But that's not how he sees things.”  
“It isn't fair...” Brenda concludes.

Dawn comes quickly. Thomas slowly opens his eyes, his muscles stiff. He frowns when he sits up and winces in pain when he tries to stretch. With one hand, he wakes up Minho who's sleeping beside him.

“We should go”, he says.

On the horizon, the sky is pink and, if they were to only look at that, they could almost believe the rest of the world isn't down to ruins. Almost.  
Thomas runs his hand across his face and through his hair while Minho is waking Brenda up. He doesn't remember anything from the night before, as always, but the brunette's worried looks are expressive enough.

“I'm sorry...”, he says, intuitively.

Brenda springs to her feet, walks briskly towards Thomas and slaps the back of his head.

“You got more bullshit like that for us?”  
“Hey!”

He strokes the back of his head under Minho's half-amused, half-disheartened eyes.

“But...”  
“Shut it! No ‘buts’. Get up and walk, we have a long way to go.”

Thomas doesn't know if Brenda is truly mad at him or just generally disgruntled. So he picks up his stuff, puts his backpack on and follows her, head down. From that point on, she knows the way much better than he does. He lied to Minho to convince him to go find Newt: he doesn't remember how to get to him. He did get away by jumping off a roof, his surroundings were way too hazy for him to remember anything.  
Minho comes last. His eyes scan the buildings around them, or what's left of them. The whole city is in rubbles. Nothing disturbs the silence, except the sound of their walking. It only takes them an hour to reach the path that once lead to the WICKED centre. Brenda keeps walking, Thomas stops and Minho walks past him.  
He's not ready. He thought he would be, but he isn't. Not yet. Just five more minutes. Enough to gather his thoughts, his memories. To gather himself, and the few pieces of his heart that are left. He's still standing there when Minho disappears behind a wall a few yards away and calls to him.

“Thomas...”

His voice is only a murmur, heavy with terror. Thomas' heart stops, his chest tightens and he feels anguish again. Five minutes have gone by, but he still isn't ready. His friend warned him, they shouldn't have come here.

“He's here”, Thomas says. It's not a question.

He doesn't want to get closer. Suddenly, reality slaps him in the face and he doesn't accept it. Still, he steps forward, like a puppet, without even thinking. The few steps he has to take until he reaches the corner of the wall seem to last for twenty miles and twenty inches at the same time. He catches his breath when he reaches the corner, he doesn't look right away, but when he does, all the air is drained from his lungs.  
Newt's here. Alive. Newt is here and alive. Newt is alive.

All of a sudden, Thomas can breathe again and tries to go to him, but a hand on his shoulder holds him back. Minho's. That's when he sees it, the strange light in Newt's eyes: dread, fear, terror. He starts when he turns towards his friends and quickly looks away, going back to his initial position.  
Brenda's the first to speak.

“...How is this possible?”

Thomas hates her so much for saying these words he could kill her. It's as if, by speaking them, she could make Newt disappear into thin air, like a dream turning into a nightmare. None of it makes sense. As if to justify her first words, she adds a few.

“I saw you...”

Newt doesn't say anything; he barely shrugs before nodding towards a place on his right. They all look that way. Lying there is Dr Crawford's corpse, her face devoured by the Flare. Thomas remembers her. The Gladers had held her hostage when they escaped WICKED, just before getting Teresa back.  
There’s a bullet hole in the middle of her forehead. Thomas and his friends frown. He looks down at Newt again, his eyes follow the curb of his friend’s arm down to a weapon. It’s a pistol, Thomas’ pistol. The one Newt used to try and off himself when they were conducting a battle none of them really wanted to win.  
Memories come rushing back and Thomas stumbles. He feels breathless; he doesn’t even notice that his attitude made Newt jump and that the blond boy’s fingers clutched the pistol’s grip, just for a split second, before relaxing again. He starts feeling dizzy, he needs air, he needs to breathe, but he can’t. 

“I see she’s wearing white scrubs, is she a doctor, then? I could believe that she healed your wounds, but… what about the Flare? How did it… recede?” 

The wound in his chest. Thomas looks away all of a sudden, as if someone had just slapped him. His eyes close but he can still see it, the blond boy’s body, lying on the floor, with this knife stuck right in the chest. It haunts him.  
Newt shrugs again and stays silent for another couple of minutes, so much so that Minho and Brenda start thinking he hasn’t heard or understood them. But he does answer, after a while. His voice sounds like it hasn’t been used for months, it’s so hoarse.

“The knife…”

They all frown, not understanding what he means.

“The knife”, he says again more loudly, almost angry.

He lifts his left arm up, just a few inches. The pistol looks like it’s only staying in his right hand by way of magic, but Newt’s fingers are clutched around the knife he’s talking about. It’s covered in dried blood. His own.  
Thomas starts hyperventilating and stumbles back a few more steps, as if to get away from the memories rushing back ever more rapidly and strongly. He crumbles to his knees, his arms wrapped around his chest, his mouth wide open, trying to breathe.  
Minho runs to him, kneels down in front of him and grabs his shoulders. 

“Breathe, Thomas… breathe.”

Thomas can’t. His vision goes blurry as Brenda exclaims.

“Your blood!”, she exclaims, pointing at Thomas.

The young woman’s voice resonates amid the ruins, frightening Newt, as every unexpected or slightly higher than normal noise seems to. Her intervention takes Thomas’ attention away from his panic attack, at least. What about his blood?

“When we healed you at the Haven, we wondered where you’d got that wound in your chest.”

Barely less agitated, Thomas touches the few stitches he still has on his collarbone. He remembers Newt trying to stab him, the blade slowly sliding into his flesh and the strength he’d needed to push his friend back. Minho frowns, unsure he understands what’s going on. Newt still hasn’t moved an inch, even though his fingers are clutching the knife again, but he’s clearly listening attentively. His eyes look less foggy. 

“Malik said you’d probably been hit by a piece of shrapnel or something. But I suppose Newt hurt you before…”

Benda’s voice trails off, unsure how to finish her sentence. So she doesn’t, and keeps following her train of thought instead. 

“Your blood was on the blade…” She turns to Newt. “He must have transferred some antibodies to you, and they helped your organism fight against the Flare, just like they did for me!”  
“So why does he still have it?” Minho asks.

Thomas was too preoccupied by his memories and anxiety to notice, but it’s obvious: Newt is still sick. Black veins are visible through his skin, and there are deep, dark shadows under his sunken eyes. He’s even skinnier than he used to be. He’s sweating a lot, his hair sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck. The fever is still eating him alive.

“Because there was only a little blood. A lot more is needed to eradicate the disease, especially when it’s got such a grip on you. Tons more. Or a serum.”

They’re all silent again, then Newt continues, his voice still hoarse.

“That’s what she told me.”

He nods towards Dr Crawford. Meanwhile, Brenda turns her back on him and looks at Minho. A thousand questions are floating in her eyes. She doesn’t dare ask a single one. She probably couldn’t, anyway, Thomas would stop her in her tracks.  
Thomas walks up to Newt. Minho is too busy trying to understand what’s bothering Brenda to stop him from doing so. He holds up his arm to grab his friend’s shoulder but fails. They’re both holding their breath, and Brenda whips around, examining Newt’s reaction to this.  
It’s not long in coming.

“Stay away…”

The blond boy is still grinding his teeth and his fingers are clutching the knife tighter, but Thomas knows this isn’t a threat. He couldn’t explain it, but he just knows it. He’s still fighting, he thinks. It seems like Newt’s spent his whole life fighting, it’s so sad. Thomas wishes he could rest, he could let himself go, he could let go. He deserves it, more than anybody else.  
Ignoring the warning, Thomas keeps going. When he’s only a few feet away from the blond boy, he kneels down. He holds out a trembling hand to the side of his face, and when his fingers reach Newt’s jaw and he feels him resting his head on them, almost unconsciously, he can’t help but say it. Because he promised himself he would.

“I love you…”

A tear rolls down Newt’s face and Thomas is actively sobbing. But just a moment later, the blond boy has gotten up and pounced on Thomas. He’s screaming and threatening him again with the knife. He’s not saying anything in particular, he’s only yelling out his rage, his despair, and his fear. Mostly his fear. Thomas can see it in his eyes, Newt can’t control himself anymore. Just like last time. But this time, they’re not alone and Minho is running towards them. Feeling the adrenaline rising up because of his own fear, Thomas pushes Newt back and turns to Minho.

“Don’t kill him!”

His voice and attitude are threatening. He’s leaning forward, his knees slightly bent, his arms open, one of them held out to his friend. Minho freezes, slipping a little on the dusty floor. He holds his hands up, palms facing Thomas. 

“I won’t”, he assures him.

Thomas looks like an animal ready to give his life to defend his loved one. Minho understands that, but he can’t help being a bit hurt by that behaviour. Why would Thomas think he was going to kill their friend?  
Behind Thomas, Newt’s growling, hunched up, his forehead against the floor, arms wrapped around himself as if he were wearing an invisible straitjacket.  
Trusting his friend’s intentions, Thomas turns towards the blond boy on the floor.

“Let me get you out of here, Newt… Please… We have the Cure, at the Haven…”

Had they known Newt was alive, they would have taken a dose with them, but how could they have known? No chance.

“Please, Newt, please…”

This sentence does something to Newt, Thomas can see it. He loosens his grip around his own body and sits up a little. His teary eyes look at the dark-haired boy. Thomas can feel Brenda and Minho holding their breath behind him.

“I’ll kill you…” he says, shaking.  
“We’ll tie you up” Thomas reassures him.  
“I’ll knock you out if I need to”, Minho adds.

Newt looks up at him. He meets his gaze intensely, as if examining him, as if wondering if he’ll really keep his word on this.

“The boat trip to the Haven is only a day long, and the boat is only an hour’s walk from here”, Brenda says.  
“You can do this, Newt.” Thomas approaches him again and puts a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You’ve survived that long… you can do two more days… Please, come with us… come with me…”

His hands travel up Newt’s neck and cup his face. His thumb strokes his cheek, wipes away a tear. Newt finally gives in. Thomas can see it, Minho can see it, Brenda can see it. His whole body crumples, as if from exhaustion, and more tears roll down his face. Thomas holds him up and embraces him, tightly, and Newt embraces him back, weeping. The knife falls to the floor. It won’t get picked up.

“It’s over, Newt, you’re okay… Let’s go home…”

A few minutes go by, and neither Brenda nor Minho dare intervening, although they should. The clock is running. If they wait for too long, the Flare will kill Newt for good, as it almost has already. But then they figure one more minute can’t hurt. So they give them one more. Just one.

“We have to go… The more we wait…”, Brenda says.

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but everyone knows what it means. Minho walks up to them to help Thomas put Newt back on his feet. Thomas wraps an arm around Newt’s waist then puts his friend’s arm around his own shoulders. Minho does the same.  
They start walking, but soon, Newt starts groaning again.

“I can walk on my own”, he says.  
“You…?” Thomas ventures.  
“Let go of me!”

The blond boy’s voice resonates around them. Brenda, leading the march, stops dead in her tracks and turns around slowly. Minho steps aside quickly but not too briskly. He shows Thomas - because he’s the one who needs convincing here - that he’s not afraid; he’s just obeying Newt. But Thomas can’t let go. He grips Newt’s wrist tighter, even though he can feel him trying to pull his arm free. He can’t bring himself to do it. He feels like Newt might vanish into thin air if he stops touching him.

“Let go of me, Thomas…”

This time, his voice is softer, even if it’s still hoarse. There’s less urgency, less terror in it. He asks more than he demands, so Thomas frees him, even though it breaks his heart to do so. He immediately turns to face and look at the blond boy. He’s checking he’s not dissolving in a million particles. He’s not. Newt slumps a bit, but he stays upright. His legs part a little, so do his arms, but then he straightens up, even though his back is still stooped. As he starts walking again, Brenda does too, and Minho puts a hand on Thomas’ shoulder, indicating him to follow.  
They’ve been walking for a few minutes only when Minho notices it. Thomas is getting closer to Newt. And Newt is getting closer to Thomas. They probably haven’t even noticed it themselves. It’s as if they were two magnets. Two lovers.

But everything shifts only a moment later. Minho is last in line, so he sees everything. First, he notices that Newt’s shoulders are tensing up again. He’s stumbling more than he has so far. He trips up once, twice, and the third time, he pounces on Thomas. He’s probably not aiming for Thomas specifically. He just happened to be closest to him. Brenda turns around and start moving towards them, but Minho is faster. He’s already on top of them when Newt is pushing Thomas down to the floor. Thomas doesn’t even try to defend himself, he barely dodges the blows. If he had any time to think about it, Minho would assume his friend thinks he deserves the violence. And if he had time to think about that, he would bash his friend’s head in for thinking that way. But he doesn’t have the time, because Newt’s fist is rushing towards Thomas’ face. The Asian boy holds out a hand to stop him, slips his arms between Newt’s elbows and locks him in this position by putting his hands at the back of his head. Newt is yelling gibberish. Then it starts making sense, as he’s still struggling to get free.

“Tie me up, Minho! Tie me up or I’ll kill him! TIE ME UP!”

Minho starts loosening his grip to grab the rope in his backpack, but as soon as he lets go of one of Newt’s arm, it flies towards Thomas. His claw-like fingers scratch his face.

“I love him and I’m gonna kill him! Minho, do something!”

There’s no anger in Newt’s voice. Just a deep, uncontrollable fear. Brenda, frozen still up until this moment, snaps awake and runs up to her friends. 

“In my bag, grab the rope!” Minho says.

He’s trying to hold the two boys still to make her task easier. She hurriedly opens the bag and grabs the rope. 

“Tie his wrists together”  
“Tightly”, Newt implores.

The blond boy is doing everything in his power to regain control of himself, and everything goes quiet. Brenda still hurries to tie up her friend. Once it’s safe, Minho gets up, wipes the dust off of his trousers, smooths out his shirt and turns to Thomas. He’s still sitting there with pain in his eyes and scratch marks on his cheek. Minho loses it. He pounces on his friend and starts punching him. 

“Wake up, for fuck’s sake! What were you gonna do, let him kill you?!”

Another blow turns Thomas’ head and his eyes meet Newt’s. It’s him he sees, not a Crank. 

“How do you think he would take the news that he’s killed you, once he’s recovered? You dickhead!”

Minho shakes him. Tears are rolling down Newt’s face.

“oHHHHHHHHsohzihdHow did you live with the fact that you killed him? Tell us about your nightmares, Thomas! We’re all ears!” 

Thomas can’t breathe, Newt’s crying, Brenda’s sobbing and Minho’s shaking with anger. Everything is silent again. It stays silent for about ten minutes, until Thomas starts talking. No one’s moved, not even Newt.

“I’m sorry…”

He’s not apologising to anyone in particular, yet it speaks to all of them. Minho answers him, calmer but still stern.

“I know you are, but it’s not enough. You have to wake up. We need you.”  
“I need you…”

Newt’s voice is only a whisper, but they all hear it anyway. Thomas clenches his fists, then runs his hand across his face and hair. Minho’s right, he needs to pull himself together. Newt’s here, he’s alive, and if they don’t hurry up, the disease will kill him for good.  
They need to keep going. Thomas gets up and holds out a hand to Minho. His friend grabs it and stands up. Then he walks up to Brenda and wraps an arm around her shoulders to put her back on her feet. Finally, he goes up to Newt and holds his fingers up to his face. Newt is still on his knees, his hands tied behind his back. He jumps when Thomas wipes up his tears. 

“Brenda, how much longer do we have to walk to get to the boat?” Thomas asks.

She wipes her own tears and sniffles before answering him. 

“I’d say about twenty minutes.”  
“You’re gonna hold out for another twenty minutes, Newt.”

It’s not a question, it’s a fact. He kneels down in front of Newt, holds out his other hand and starts stroking his cheeks.

“When we reach the boat, I’ll knock you out.”  
“Thomas…” Minho starts.  
“It’s okay, Minho. I remember one time Janson tried to choke me and I nearly passed out when his arm pressed down on my carotid artery. I’ll do that. It won’t hurt you, Newt.”

Thomas grabs one of Newt’s arms and helps him up. Minho immediately does the same and they both hold him up until they arrive at the boat. When they get there, they all take a break. Minho stretches his aching arms, Brenda takes out a water bottle, drinks from it then holds it up to Newt’s mouth. He’s gotten even worse now. He’s started drooling again and he’s shaking a lot. His eyes are black. His skin is almost translucent. But he drinks a little. Thomas hasn’t let go of him. He slips behind him and gently squeezes his shoulders to ask if he’s ready. Newt groans but leans a bit closer to Thomas. So Thomas slips an arm around his throat, grabs his own elbow and starts clutching, tighter and tighter. The blond boy barely puts up a fight and passes out in about ten seconds. Thomas loosens his grip and Newt sags against him. Minho helps his friend carry the blond boy into the boat. Brenda hops in, and the journey back begins.

Newt doesn’t wake up during the trip, and he’s still out when they get to the Haven, which worries Thomas. The blond boy’s skin is paler than ever. Thomas can feel his hands become colder and colder. When Brenda checks for a pulse, she struggles to find one.

“We need to get there. Right now.” she says, and a minute later they catch sight of the coast.

Minho gets off the boat before it berths. Brenda follows him and helps him pull the boat ashore. It’s daylight, so, soon enough, a few former Gladers raise the alarm. Gally’s the first to reach them.  
They haven’t told anyone about their expedition, so he has no clue what’s going on.

“Where the fuck have you been?!” Gally demands.  
“Who cares, help us!” Minho answers.

The authority in his voice is enough to convince Gally to obey without asking further explanations. They’ll come later. Gally takes Brenda’s place while she runs towards the living quarters.

“Malik! MALIK!” she yells.

Thomas is still in the boat. He’s holding Newt’s hand as if the blond boy’s life depended on it. And maybe it does. Maybe both of their lives do.  
“He’s dying… He’s dying…” he whispers.

He’s starting to panic again. He can’t think straight. As soon as a thought materialises in his mind, it breaks up in small pieces. He can’t breathe. He barely feels the bump when the boat is pulled on the sand. He’s staring at Newt, without really seeing him. Tears are starting to burn in his eyes.

“Wake.. UP!” 

Thomas doesn’t understand right away why his face shoots to the side and his jaw starts hurting. He holds a hand up to his face and his eyes widen. Minho’s just punched him. Again.

“Move! We need to get him out of there!” his friend yells. “Gally, grab his feet!”

Minho knows that even after Gally’s proven he’s trustworthy, Thomas couldn’t bear to see him so close to Newt’s face. He would worry about him changing teams again and they clearly don’t have time to fight over such trifles. With no unnecessary precaution, the three friends manage to get Newt out of the boat and start hurriedly carrying him to the infirmary. Thomas trips every other step. Gally lands on his rear a few times.

“Lay him down here” says Malik, who’s just arrived.

The Medjack is cool and composed, methodical. Brenda is hovering behind him, a syringe in hand. Malik is holding another one. They don’t need to talk to each other, because they probably did beforehand, and Brenda sticks hers in Newt’s chest while Malik sticks his at the base of his neck.  
The little group falls quiet. No one else dares to approach, they’re staying about a hundred yards away. Gally takes a few steps back. The death of another one of his friends would be too much to bear. Minho has gotten up, but stays close. Thomas grabs one of Newt’s hands and wraps his own around his forearm. He needs to touch him, to hold him. To hold him back. Maybe if he squeezes harder, he will keep Death away? Brenda and Malik are looking for signs. The boy holds two fingers to the side of Newt’s neck, tenses up for a second, then starts doing CPR. The silence is killing Thomas, so Brenda starts talking. 

“We’ve injected him with two different serums”, she explains. “One in his heart, the one Gally took to the Berg, so that it would spread quickly to his whole organism and keep the Flare at bay. And one in his brain, because that’s where the disease took its headquarters. This one is the one you were holding when you passed out before leaving the Last City. If the…”

She pauses, clears her throat and continues. Meanwhile, Malik has stopped the massage and seems calmer. It’s a good sign, but Thomas hasn’t noticed. 

“When the serum does its thing, the Flare will back away.”  
“And he’ll wake up”, Minho concludes.

Thomas is looking at Newt, so he doesn’t catch the look Brenda and Malik exchange, but they’re worried, they’re sceptical. The boy gestures to Brenda. She gets up and puts a hand on Thomas’ shoulder. 

“Come on, Thomas, we’ll lay him down in the infirmary. It might be a while before he wakes up, he’ll be more comfortable there. So will you.”

Thomas nods, even though his own comfort doesn’t matter much to him. Straight away, Malik calls for two other people, a boy and a girl. They have a makeshift stretcher with them. They lay Newt on it and lift him. Thomas doesn’t let go of his hand or his arm and follows the convoy to the tent where he himself woke up not so long ago. But the doorway is narrow and he has to let go.  
As soon as Newt is settled in his bed, Thomas takes a stool and sits next to him. He doesn’t dare touch him anymore. He’s worried he’ll realise his friend died during the few seconds that just went by. Maybe he’s now cold as stone, his hands limp, lifeless. His own hands start shaking and his back is slumping. His head bows down and he closes his eyes to stop the tears from rolling. A hand on his back makes him jump, and, as he opens his eyes to see it belongs to Minho, he starts crying.

“It’s gonna be okay, Thomas… We did everything necessary. He’ll live.” he assures him.

Minho sits down on the floor, his back leaning on one of the tent’s poles, his head back. Minutes pass, then hours. At some point, Minho stands up to get the feeling back in his legs, and get something to drink and eat. He brings some bread and water to Thomas, knowing full well he won’t want anything else. He’s even surprised to see him eat what he’s brought. But he does, and the Asian boy smiles. Maybe the speech he made back on the mainland still resonates with him? If he lets himself starve to death and Newt wakes up, the blond boy will never recover from it. In a rush of almost fatherly tenderness, he strokes Thomas’ hair, clutched it softly and give a gentle tap to the back of his head, before sitting down against the pole again. 

Days pass and life goes on at the camp. Minho and Thomas stay at Newt’s bedside and take turns fetching food, having a wash and going to the toilet. It’s Thomas’ turn to get up. He groans a little as he unfurls his back and legs. They only have a stool to sit on. Once he’s up, he stretches. Most of his joints crack, it feels liberating. His head still feels foggy, but the fog is clearing up.  
Newt’s face is regaining some colour. Almost all of the black veins have disappeared and those that remain probably have more to do with the boy’s general health than with the Flare. Malik and Brenda take turns feeding him all sorts of mush. But he’s still not waking up. 'It’s taking long but it’s normal, Thomas' Brenda said. 'The Flare had almost reached its final stage, it’s done some damage. His organism needs some time to heal from it.' Thomas didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just shook her hand, thankful, then grabbed Newt’s arm again.  
The sun blinds him when he steps out of the tent, but it doesn’t burn him anymore. The sea’s close and it cools down the air, making it much more breathable than in the Scorched Trial. He limps up to the fountain they built, puts both hands on the side of it and turns the water on to wash his face and his hair. Suddenly, he hears Minho.

“THOMAS!” 

All the hairs on his arms stand on end, and without thinking twice, he starts running. Towards the tent. He pushes the curtains aside and stumbles in. When he looks up, he thinks he’s dreaming.  
Newt is still here, but he’s sitting up in his bed, one of Minho’s hands holding him up. He’s back. From where, no one knows. From the dead, maybe. But he’s back. And Thomas can’t believe his eyes. He feels like he’s been waiting here for years, at his bedside, on the lookout for any sign of waking up. He doesn’t dare get closer, but…

“Tommy…?”

Newt frowns, as if he weren’t sure he recognised his friend. His love. Thomas takes a few steps forward. He wants to tell him that it is him, but the words are stuck in his throat. His eyes are red, but he doesn’t cry. He’s cried too much these days, and anyway the feeling is almost too strong for that. He simply nods and holds out a hand to him when he reaches the bed. Minho gets up from the stool, but Thomas doesn’t sit on it yet. He only sits when Newt also hands out a shaking hand and grabs his fingers weakly. And this time, Thomas starts crying. He sits down, his back slouching, and brings Newt’s fingers to his lips. They’re warm. Newt leans forward as best he can and puts his forehead against Thomas’. No word is exchanged, they would be unnecessary. Some situations don’t call for a conversation.

Newt stays in the infirmary a few days. Soon enough, they realise he suffers from memory loss. It’s confirmed once he’s recovered. The first person they run into is Gally. The former Glader gives Newt three taps on the shoulders with his big hand. 

“Happy to see you back on your feet, Newt.”

Thomas can tell he’s emotional, but the boy has always had communication problems, so he doesn’t say anything and goes back to what he was doing. Newt leans towards him. 

“Didn’t Minho kill this guy?” he asks discreetly. 

Thomas stifles a laugh.

“Yeah. But he didn’t die, and he joined a group of Resistants. He helped us overthrow WICKED. We wouldn’t be here without him.”

Newt nods and shrugs. He doesn’t add anything, which makes Thomas laugh again.

Brenda and Minho are watching them from afar. Minho’s astute eye notices that they’re walking as if they were joined at the hip. Every time they take a step, their hands brush against each other but never quite touch. Every time Newt trips, Thomas steadies him without either of them realising it. Minho also notices that if Thomas gets a little too far, Newt automatically looks for him and moves closer to him. Seeing them like that makes him smile.

“Do you think they’ll admit they love each other quicker this time? Or are they back to square one?” Brenda asks, laughing.

Minho laughs too.

“I’m not gonna have the patience to watch them beat around the bush for a century.” he says.

That same night, when most of the Haven dwellers have gone to bed and the few still up are quietly chatting around the bonfire, Newt and Thomas head up to the stone standing in the middle of the camp. Names are etched into it. The names of the people who’ve died. Teresa’s name is there. Minho probably etched it in when Thomas was still recovering. They also see Chuck, Alby, Ben. And Newt.  
He and Thomas stop in front of the stone. One holds a hammer, the other holds a chisel. Thomas squeezes Newt’s shoulder with his free hand and pulls him closer. They’re the same size, and yet in this moment, Newt seems like he grows several inches. He still snuggles against Thomas. The dark-haired boy whispers something in his ear, and these few words only belong to them. A few minutes pass then Thomas holds up his chisel and holds it in front of the N. Newt gives the first blow. A minute later, his name is crossed out: he is not dead.

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are fuckers ! What you gonna dooo nooooow ?!! :D


End file.
